


The Guardian Prompts [spillover from DADWC]

by HumblePeasant



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Smut, Solavellan, probably, solavellan-type relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-10-03 17:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20456948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumblePeasant/pseuds/HumblePeasant
Summary: Prompts and whatnot that are an extension of my fic The Guardian. Or at least fit within that universe.





	1. Snow, Silver, Flowing prompt

**Author's Note:**

> DADWC:  
OC & LI fighting only to end up kissing.   
+  
Snow, silver, flowing

“I am going to kill the Inquisitor when we get back to Skyhold,” she swore, breath clouding thickly before her mouth. As if to emphasise her immense displeasure, the creature just above them let loose a magnificent roar that shook the pale stone of Etienne’s Ring._ “There aren’t dragons in Emprise, Maori! The only hot things there are the Pools of the Sun! And me when I’m present,” _she said, mimicking an Antivan accent. A couple of white clouds puffed to her left and right as her companions laughed quietly behind their cover of the coliseum walls. It wasn’t the greatest protection, since all it would take was for the dragon to breathe into the corridor and waste them to ash. “No dragons, Inquisitor? Because I counted _three _fucking dragons.”

“I love when she gets like this,” Sera said between stifled giggles as she strung her bow. “Mao, if you can ride the dragon, I’ll show you how to pick locks with a blade of grass! Plus, Quizzie will shite nugs when he hears.” Solas hissed a stream of ghostly vapour between his teeth.

“This is no time for games, Sera!” he whispered, voice barely audible over the whooping of wings. His head popped out from within one of the alcoves, stormy eyes narrowing at Maori. “Lockpicking and bragging rights are not worth being rent apart by a dragon!” Maori looked away from him, hiding a grin.

“Oh, c'mon, live a little Solas!” Bull whispered. He barely flinched like the rest of them as the entire earth seemed to quake with the dragon’s romping above. “If you can ride the dragon, I won’t tell anyone about the raven I saw.” Maordrid’s mood soured instantly. She turned a smoldering gaze on the Qunari and gripped her hilt tightly. He flashed an animalistic grin. _He saw me change form Fuck. Fenedhis. Kaffas. Vashedan. You’re getting careless!_

They all cursed and ducked back into cover like startled mice as splinters of ice blew into the corridor.

“Ah, so she’s an ice breather,” Maori grumbled. The hivernal chuffed her frustration, obviously trying to find a way to access them.

“Bonus points if you can ride the dragon into something. That way you aren’t technically killing her,” Bull amended, still looking at her with challenge.

_“Fenedhis!”_ At Solas’ sharper tone of voice, they turned their attentions on the elf to see that a massive column of ice had fallen and nearly crushed him. “The dragon will not go away if we simply ignore her. We need a plan.” Sera blew her tongue at him.

“Who thought it was a good idea to bring elfy along? Nothin’ but _naggin_’.” Solas said something too low to Sera for Maori to hear, but her attention was instead on joining the Qunari warrior behind his large boulder.

“I’ve a plan,” she told him. He raised a brow in surprise at her fervour but an enthusiastic gleam grew in his one eye. “If you charge out, it will give me time to cloak and get behind her. Once she turns her attention to me, help the other two to get out of cover and into position.” Bull nodded and grinned.

“You _do _have experience killing these things,” he accused, lowering his voice.

“Going to run along and tell your superiors in Seheron?” She drew her hilt and willed the shimmering labradorite blade into existence between them. The spirit within greeted her happily, as always. Bull cast his gaze to the rest of their party on the other side of the path.

“They’d probably be pretty interested in an elf that isn’t the Inquisitor with a history of killing dragons,” he admitted. “But the Boss himself? He doesn’t know you can _fly _like one.”

“You’re serious about riding the dragon?” she deadpanned. Bull’s thick hand wrapped around her bicep and pulled her out of the path of a falling slab of ice.

“Y'know, if I were talking to almost anyone else, I wouldn’t even bother and casually mention it to Yin anyway,” he said, unstrapping his great axe with a clank. “But I like you and I can see that rattles you good. Here’s the thing–they’re paying for my services.”

“Are you suggesting I outbid them for your silence?” Bull grinned.

“Up to you. Can’t really outbid a _dragon_.” She considered him, but then shook her head. Something like disappointment fell across his scarred, grey features as he hefted his axe in both hands.

“Get on with your distraction, Qunari. Or this dragon is going to crush us like ants,” she said. They got to their feet and turned to face Solas and Sera. “We’re going to lure her away from you. Get ready.” Solas’ lips pinched at the corners and his hands clenched a little tighter around his staff, but he nodded his agreement with Sera. With a grim smile, Maordrid cloaked herself and ran up the crumbled path behind Bull who charged out of cover with a fierce roar that startled the dragon.

The fight commenced with a burst of _silver _magic and a rippling roar that shattered the frozen puddles of the Ring. Raw magic swarmed the hivernal, reaching high up into the sky where the clouds began to swirl in a heavenly maelstrom.

As promised, Maordrid initiated her distraction of the dragon by wrapping ropes of magic around her lashing tail, tethering it temporarily to a rock jutting out of the ground. The dragon let out a confused growl and swung her great head around to look for the invisible pest at her back. Maori dropped her cloak, popping back into visibility. The hivernal’s yellow-ringed eyes snapped to her form immediately. At the same time, Sera and Solas emerged from below, spreading out along the top as fast as they could.

Then there was Bull who’d a bigger death wish than herself. He went straight for her breastbone with a roar to challenge the fierceness of the dragon herself. It, of course, drew her attention back to him. Seeing that she was surrounded, the great winged reptile took an agile leap back, nearly crushing Maordrid who dove straight into the icy puddles to avoid it. The Veil around her sharpened, then grew taut and frigid as the hivernal drew it around her in a protective barrier. The air began to thrum with the telltale signs of a winged attack. Maori pushed herself to her feet, feeling a barrier settle over her skin. Solas was running to the edges of the arena tossing barriers and fireballs like candy. Sera was somehow perched on top of a broken arch, safe from the howling gales that pulled at Maori’s body like wraith’s hands back toward the dragon. Arrows aided by the wind sailed through the air like minnows in a creek, feathering the thick flesh at the dragon’s neck. Magic from the enchanted arrows blossomed across the hivernal’s scales in rippling colours–a well-aimed shot at her foreleg actually crippled the dragon temporarily. Spotting danger, Maori redirected, stepping through the Veil to jab her sword between entrail-encrusted teeth and Iron Bull’s shoulder.

_“Your tactics are shit and you are going to die like a cow in her jaws!”_ she screamed in Qunlat at Bull who was wrenching his axe from the ice where it’d been trapped. The dragon tried to snap her spirit sword in half between her teeth but Maordrid dispelled it and spun away before she could retaliate.

_“Say, your tongue is pretty good. One more thing I can add to my reports!”_ Bull returned. Maordrid growled.

_“It’d be a shame if the water were to freeze around your ankles–” _Bull turned the dragon’s entire head to the side with the flat of his axe, diverting a lunge that would have put Maori’s entire upper body into her gullet. _“I will have trouble keeping a straight face telling the Inquisitor and your Chargers that their pet cow served as a frozen_ hors d'oeuvre _for a dragon.”_

_“Hey, my offer still stands. Just sayin’-_-WHOA!” He laughed with abandon as they were both tossed backward by the force of the dragon’s foot slamming into the ground. Next came the familiar whoop as the dragon prepared to lift off. The proximity almost burst her eardrums.

“Throw me!” she shouted, getting to her feet and running back toward Bull. His eye widened with excitement.

“Seriou–”

“NOW!” His arm wrapped around her waist and with a bodily spin, she was airborne. She heard Solas swearing up a storm as she landed on the hivernal’s neck just as the dragon took to the air. Maordrid scrabbled for a hold, sliding down the dragon’s craggy hide. A jerk of the reptile’s body sent her hilt tumbling into the void and to the unknown below. There was no time to mourn its loss, especially since she was still falling herself.

Her hands found tenuous purchase on the dragon’s tail spikes, the force with which she caught them throwing her heart into her mouth and her body into a flagellate motion. Maori risked a glance downward and saw the earth dwindling. She could no longer pick out Etienne’s Ring.

Mere seconds later, they broke the clouds and the only sounds were the leathery slap of wings on wet air and the wind in her ears. She cast a skin-tight barrier around her against the wintry currents threatening to freeze her limbs solid and began her climb up the dragon’s body to seek a safer position. The hivernal screeched, her call muffled by the grey. Maordrid let out an involuntary cry of surprise when her stomach became weightless as the dragon righted herself in the air. She took the opportunity of the horizontal change to climb as far as she could up the bluish-grey spine, digging the tips of her gauntlets and boots into the ridges formed by the scales. Flecks of white danced and swirled past her face and she lifted her gaze to see _snow _drifting across the rocky landscape of scales and scars. Some caught in her hair and lashes despite her barrier. 

It was almost funny that her worries did not lie in surviving the dragon or cold itself rather than that they were with the furious elven mage and the devious Qunari that awaited her back on solid ground.

Solas was going to _kill _her.

~~~~

The three of them rushed to the edge of the frozen arena, staring up into the darkening skies after Maordrid and the dragon. Solas laced his hands atop his head, loosing a stuttering breath. His heart fluttered with fear and anger - a very unpleasant mix.

“That was grand! I can’t believe you _threw _her!” Sera tittered to his right. The Qunari had the gall to laugh.

“Right? Fuckin’ didn’t expect that!” Solas turned on him, a frown twisting his lips.

“Why?” he snarled. “Why would you put her in even more danger?” Iron Bull hefted his axe over his shoulder still bearing a jolly grin. He wished to burn it from his face.

“Sorry Solas, it was in heat of the moment. Plus, she made a pretty convincing argument.” It was pointless to argue with the Ben-Hassrath about this.

An eerie screech echoed down from cloud cover.

“There!” Sera crowed, pointing with an arrow. A jagged shadow appeared in the white, skimming just out of sight before they took a plunge, taking Solas’ heart with it. “She still attached?” The question was answered as the dragon spun mid-fall to reveal the small form of Maordrid crawling her way down its body. A strangled cry escaped him as she came apart from it in a free fall.

“Damn, Mao is _badass!_” Bull hooted. He watched in abject horror as Maordrid twisted her body and maneuvered her way between the dragon’s deadly limbs. He saw her reach a hand out, placing it against the dragon’s underbelly. There was another flash of silver punctuated by an agonised roar as she opened its belly with an ethereal blade visible even from there. The dragon’s lifeblood seeped from the deep wound, flowing upward, spattering her and drifting between the thick flakes of white that had followed them down from the clouds. His heart rattled painfully against his ribs, watching the tableau of death play out. He wondered how her heart was beating. Was it a blood-thrilling rhythm for battle? A hymn of lamentation for the life she’d taken? Or was it erratic with fear, like his own? Perhaps it was cold and evenly paced, cruelly indifferent to it all.

The dragon began to careen, wings jerking in the throes of its death. Her head whipped from side to side, maw unhinging to pour a stream of uncontrolled magic and ice into the air. Solas cried out once more when it caught Maori in its path, this time knocking her loose and far from its body.

“Shit,” Bull groaned with dread as they dropped toward the Elfsblood river. Sera screamed her own terror, so loud and shrill that it raised bumps along every inch of his skin. Without waiting for them, the rogue began scrambling down the rocks without any heed for the danger that the landscape itself posed.

“Wake up,” Solas begged her. “Wake up, _vhenan_…”

His heart skipped a beat as her form wavered and smoke unfurled from her body. He blinked and the raven had replaced the elf. She continued to fall with the dragon and he knew something was wrong when she didn’t try to fly to safety.

Limbs shaky and numb with adrenaline, Solas followed Sera, using magic to make the descent less precarious.

~~  


They reached Judicael’s Crossing in time to witness the dragon crash into the frozen river just below, sending skyward a geyser of ice shards and water that almost reached the bridge. There was no sign of Maordrid.

It took far too long to find their way down and by then a handful of Inquisition agents who’d witnessed the spectacle had made their way to the riverbank as well. The snow was knee deep on him - ordinarily he’d walk upon it but that would only draw attention - though halfway through the trees he gave up and melted a path as he went.

The air glittered with fibres of ice crystals even in the gloom, making each intake of breath sharp before they melted in his throat. Despite the tranquillity of the wilderness, Solas was anything but, fraying further when the grotesque scene came into view. The dragon’s corpse was hanging half in the water, face down with its wings shredded and broken from the impact. Vivid arterial blood seeped and steamed from multiple wounds in the bright, painterly flesh and had spattered much of the snow on the banks. The water around the body was bubbling, though from what, he could not say.

“Did you see an elf anywhere?” Solas asked a gaping agent standing near the edge. The strawberry-blonde woman blinked rapidly and looked at him, seeming just as surprised at his arrival as she was of the mythical creature’s corpse. “Obsidian of hair and short in stature?” The agent shook her head slowly.

“No, Messere, only the dragon,” she said in a thick Orlesian accent. “Should I have someone search downriver?” He nodded curtly and turned as Bull and Sera joined him, wading through the snow. Sera’s eyes were rimmed with red and she was sniffing too much for it to have been from the cold. Iron Bull had little expression, eye fixating on the corpse behind him.

Solas opened his mouth to speak, though what he meant to say, he wasn’t sure, except that no one present deserved to be the target of his anger.

“She has to be somewhere,” he said, hardly aware of how hollow his voice sounded in his own ears. “The snow is deep…and there’s forest we can searc–”

“Solas–the ice!” Iron Bull pointed a meaty finger to something behind him. He spun, eyes searching and landing on a spot down river that was…glowing? Then he recognised it as magic - fire, to be precise. Solas took off at a run - or so he tried, forcing his body to plough through the snow toward the red-orange splotch. It pulsed once, twice, and then the surface exploded with such a force he felt the wave of heat on his cheeks. Water rained down all around him, but he forged ahead and slid down onto the river, sprinting when he heard desperate gasps and saw blue-tinged hands scrabbling for something to grab onto.

She slipped back under, but his hand plunged into the water, closing around her wrist just in time. He pulled up and her frightfully pale face burst from the freezing depths, bloodless lips parting for another gasp._ Vhenan, oh my love, you reckless thing!_ With his help, she clambered clumsily onto solid ground, leaden arms tangling listlessly with his. Solas ripped his cloak from his shoulders and wrapped her in it. She wasn’t shivering, which was a sign that she wasn’t out of peril yet. Maordrid slumped forward on her knees, head bowed. Was she laughing? How dare–

“B-Beautif-f-ul,” she whispered, peering up at him with winter-silver irises. She was a vision that stole the breath from his lungs._ She is so real._ A blankness stole over her features and her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. _Real and in danger_. Solas caught her, drawing her into his arms, not caring who saw as he wrapped her body tightly in his cloak.

Sera and Bull came skidding across the ice just as he got to his feet with the unconscious elf in his hold.

“Tell us what she needs and I’ll bluddy do it,” Sera told him, reaching out to brush a knuckle along Maori’s cheek with a tenderness not befitting the rogue.

“A tent. Bedroll, blankets,” Solas managed and Sera was already bolting back across the river toward the Inquisition scouts. While they waited for someone to return with a kit, Solas sat with her, passively warming Maordrid’s extremities as he could. An hour later, the tent was erected and Solas took her inside. Sera refused to leave even when he assured her he had it under control. When she showed no signs of listening, he caved and allowed her to help him undress Maordrid to her smalls and covered her beneath blankets imbued with heat spells after he had checked her over for broken bones and internal bleeding.

He finally got the rogue to leave on some mission to fetch a hot broth for when Maordrid woke, allowing him a moment of respite with his reckless heart. If they weren’t surrounded by agents or in the company of the other two, he would have joined her beneath the blankets - kept her warm with his own body heat. It would not do for someone to walk in and get the wrong idea. The thought repulsed him to his core.

Solas had not doubted her survival. Maordrid had come back from worse, after all. Certainly he feared for her life, but his anger he found was directed at her continuous neglect for herself. She’d no sense of self-preservation and seemed to find a thrill in taunting death. Her excuse would be something along the lines of_ “It’s for your own good.”_ It was the only thing predictable about her.

Her disregard had been so concerning that he’d requested she fight from afar rather than engage in _dirth'ena enasalin. _She’d taken it as an insult, rightfully so, as a true Arcane Warrior should. _Ghilan'him banal'vhen, _he’d asked of her. Yet…the next time they fought he found her beside him wielding a staff. He remembered her wry grin when he asked what had changed her mind. _To give my heart some peace of mind. Plus, did you not want to keep me close? How could I resist a request like that?_

_How? By simply not caring what I think, _he thought now, but perhaps that was unfair to her. He knew that she was not good with expressing her emotions, but never had he doubted her love for him. And it was a kind of love he had never known. Fierce and protective as the dragon she’d slain today while simultaneously terrifying…and ensorcelling. He revelled in the fires of her love. Some day, she might burn him to ash and he would love her for it.

His little warrior was a walking paradox.

“When you wake…” he trailed off as anger, hurt, and frustration swirled through him like the snow by the winds outside. He sighed. “Wake soon, _vhenan_.”

Then, he waited.

~~~~

She came to in the grips of heat and a white brightness glaring her in the face.  
Her body felt as though the dragon had sat on her all night. Each limb was stiff, too hot, and tight with pain. Her eyes swivelled in their sockets, trying to get a read on where her body currently lay. A tent, so it would seem. Shit, she thought with dread. Something had gone awry–

Oh. Right. She’d shapeshifted in an attempt to glide away into safety but hadn’t accounted for the drag created by the dragon’s body. She didn’t think the soul-sucking chill of the Elfsblood river would ever leave her.

With a soft groan, she forced her arms to lift her into a sitting position to escape the rude sunlight pouring in through the hole in the tent. Blinking the brightness from her vision, she found that she was alone, but only within the tent judging by the low hum of voices outside. Though her head pounded and her mouth was dry as bone, Maori first donned the clothes she found folded on a stool by a table. A cup of cold tea sat on the corner of it as well as a half-eaten ration of porridge. She swallowed the tea and decided that before she faced the wrath of anyone, she needed to visit the hivernal and pay her respects. She hadn’t meant to take the dragon’s life, but things had spiralled too far from her control to have avoided it.

Maordrid slipped out of the tent with her hood drawn and darted for the nearest wood her eyes landed upon. Only once she was in cover did she turn and take stock of her surroundings. Apparently, her companions had seen fit to take her as far away from the site of the dragon’s final resting place as possible. The head of the Elfsblood river was to her left, just beyond the shattered bridge and its frozen statues.

It would be a long walk to the dragon.

~~  


It took little over an hour to make her way down the frozen river, but eventually the colossal stone bridge came into view around a high bluff, as did the great grey-blue corpse of the dragon, her body still laying in the river where she’d fallen. By then, it had begun to snow again and the sun had disappeared behind the clouds. It was as though the world knew that it had lost one of its skyward children, mourning her by the way she had been in life, surrounded by cold and ice.

Maordrid had to stop and lean against a riverside boulder as a sense of shame and sorrow bore down on her spirit. She had _murdered _a spirit of the natural world. A remnant of a time before mortal beings had taken root in this plane of existence. And for what? A selfish endeavour of hers? 

Her feet carried her across the blue vein, but then stalled when a flicker of motion on the treeline caught her eye._ Not yet. _She relished the tranquil scene of the falling snow, the silver-dusted pines, and the stones riddling the landscape, for once her eyes sought the ancient wolf watching her, she knew it would all be over.

But there was no use delaying the inevitable.

She acknowledged his presence, turning her body to face him. He leaned against a tree, arms crossed, ankles hooked, and a stern expression on his noble face. Maordrid reluctantly pushed back her cowl so that he could see her eyes.

“Why do you sneak about like a sordid thief in the night?” His soft voice carried across the wintry stillness, light as the falling flakes of snow around her. She frowned, wondering how long he’d been following her for.

“I would rather pay my dues to the dragon without interruptions,” she answered truthfully. Solas pushed away from his tree and began making his way slowly down the snow, nary leaving a track as he walked. He stopped when he reached the edge of the bank, hiemal eyes cold and filled with an indescribable emotion. Even if she could not read him, she sensed the trap waiting to spring on her. She sighed. “_And_ I know you are upset with me.” Solas scoffed, swinging his head to peer at the dragon’s still form. A muscle in his neck tensed as he clenched his jaw.

“That is one way to put it.”

“Solas, I–”

“What were you thinking, Maordrid?” It was unnerving how he could speak in little more than a whisper and it would cut through the silence of the world like he’d shouted. “Ah, yes, you weren’t. Should I even be surprised?”

“You could do without the insults,” she muttered, then louder so that he could hear, “It was–”

“For our sakes, so you say. As always.”

“Will you allow me to get a damn word in?” She glared at him - he regarded her on his higher ground, looking down at her like a patron upon a supplicant. An Evanuris and his slave. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to dispel the horrible images and memories that flashed to mind. _He never owned any. Quit it._

“Of course, let us see what excuses she can spin for this misstep.” She bristled, taking a step forward and meeting his eyes defiantly. Solas tilted his head, looking every bit like a wolf with his fur-lined cloak and features made almost feral with irritation. “Oh! Allow me - I cannot think of a single valid excuse for _riding a dragon._” She threw her hands up despite the wrenching ache in her muscles.

“No! I don’t have a bloody excuse! Are you happy that you get to be right once again?” The cloud of white that came out of her nose was not steam, but smoke. The mage tucked his hands behind his back and this time it oozed condescension. “I was not going to offer excuses, Solas. I have an explanation but it seems like you are set on being angry with me. Or is this another attempt to push me away?” This, at least, garnered a reaction from him. Insult, then hurt. Oh, and how she _abhorred _that look. She wanted nothing more than to take his face between her hands and - _no_. Not this time.

“I simply do not understand why you acted so recklessly! Careless! I thought we had worked past that!” he said, voice raising just a hair in volume. She did not remember when he had climbed down from the riverbank, but now they were on even ground. “I have asked very little of you - not that I have any right to, but everything that happened yesterday could have been avoided.”

“You don’t know that,” she interjected sharply. “Any one of us could have been injured or worse! It is the way of battle –”

“Is taking the most perilous path possible–?”

“Solas, I had no choice!” He fell silent, a line forming between his eyebrows as he frowned. “In spur of the moment, I had no way around it.” She could see him trying to rearrange the pieces of the situation in his mind, attempting to find some way to box her in again - to gain the upperhand.

“The raven,” he was quick to puzzle out. She nodded.

“Bull saw me shift before, though I’m not sure when,” she said, running her fingers across her face. “Sera joked about riding the dragon and Bull saw it as an opportunity to…coerce me.” Solas’ eyes darkened, but he nodded for her to continue. “Ride the dragon and he won’t tell anyone. Though I suppose there is nothing truly keeping him from spilling what he knows about my abilities. So yes, I _am _a fool. But I took the chance.” A strange expression formed on his face as he looked back up the river. “What is it?”

“I believe he may have regretted his actions after what happened,” he said, sounding almost…smug. She knew Solas had a borderline hostile relationship with Bull - _it had been a damn nightmare travelling from Skyhold to Emprise because of it_ \- but the way his little grin curled his lips chilled her. Again, she was having a hard time reading him, which was…unusual. “As you should your own.” She resisted the urge to throw her hands up again.

“Thank you for the kind reminder, Solas,” she said, hating the way her voice cracked. “I was on my way to reflect on my mistakes _alone _when you saw fit to intercept me.” She stepped into his intimate space, looking up into his face, baring her own so that he could see the hurt in her eyes. “I regret it all. But what do my words matter to you? You don’t want to hear my ‘excuses’.” At his silence, Maordrid turned from him in anger. “So please _excuse _me now. I have rites to perform before Iron Bull brings the Inquisition down on my head for…lying by omission. Chances are I will be forced to flee.” She got a total of two steps in before bumping into him, having not even sensed him move.

“I have seen you lie before,” he said, close, but not touching her. His words sent a real chill cascading down her spine. Solas tilted his head, trying to capture her eyes with his. “Would you give up so easily against his claims, should he decide to expose you? You would face down a dragon but not a threat waged on your reputation? I do not understand you.” Maori shook her head, stepping back from him with a steady exhale.

“I have been outplayed. Leliana is already watching me closely, looking for any excuse to pin me down as some kind of criminal,” she confessed.

“I think you are lying to yourself now,” his voice was hedging back into his insufferable condescension once more. As though he knew better. “You have convinced yourself that you cannot talk your way out of it.”

“What a convoluted way of suggesting that I lie to them, Solas.” There was a bout of silence where they simply stared at one another.

“There are many ways to go about doing it.”

“Bold of you to assume that I would be fine with lying.”

“Let us pretend that you are, for a moment.” She stared at him, slightly aghast. He continued unaffected, “He may claim to have seen you shift into a raven - but what proof does he have?” She chewed the inside of her lip, shaking her head slightly. “An outright denial is one option.”

“And what would you do, wolf?” He didn’t react like she expected he might. Cool as the ice beneath their feet.

“Start a rumour about myself of absurd accounts. A dragon, a griffon, a nug…a wolf, whatever takes your fancy.” He smirked, clasping his hands behind his back. Maordrid once more looked to the side, considering. “In fact, I would strongly advise we do that, even if Bull decides not to. As a preventative measure, should he change his mind.” He paused. “You may even come to derive amusement from the way your reputation changes before your very eyes.”

_Is that how you felt, once? Not anymore, surely._

“We?” she repeated, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “I did not take you for a gossiper.” His cloak swayed once with the single step he took toward her. His cinereous eyes reduced to slivers beneath his lids as he fixated on her. This close, she could see tiny snowflakes alighting on his lashes and a faint flush on his freckled cheeks from the windchill.

“Tall tales have their uses, and are not always malevolent in nature,” His lips twitched against a smirk. “We can get very creative.” She was not sure if he was still angry with her, but testily, she reached up and twined the leather cords of his amulet around her fingers. When he did not withdraw, she took it as a good sign.

“If we are to stick with the shapeshifting theme…you could shift into your wolf and walk by my side past one of the camps,” she mused, running the thumb of her other hand over the jawbone. “Might they think me an Emerald Knight from the olden days?” 

“It would likely be more sinister than that, though I do enjoy the idea,” he said.

“Ah, sinister, is it? I can hear it now,_ 'She walks beside Fen'harel! The demon-witch from the Fade is in cahoots with the Dread Wolf!’_” Solas cast his head back and laughed heartily, clumps of white vapour curling from his mouth. The next thing she knew, his arms were tugging her to him and his mouth was on hers. The liar’s tongue tasted like mint and gingerroot today.

“That may not go over well with our Dalish Inquisitor or his sister,” he hummed against her lips.

“You were the one who suggested we be absurd. The idea was a good one.” A shadow passing overhead had them both looking up to see a raven flying toward the riverside camp. “Ravens and wolves. In Dalish legend…Dirthamen and Fen'harel.” She gave him a devious look. _Oh, how I enjoy this game. _“Imagine spreading the rumour that we are two elven gods come to assist the Inquisition.”

“I would rather not involve myself in these rumours,” he said, brushing a rogue strand of hair from her face.

“You wouldn’t need to. Shift, walk with me for a bit, then hide and shift back. No harm to your pristine reputation.” Solas’ eyes gleamed with amusement. “Or, teach me how to shapeshift into a wolf and I will do it myself. Who is she, really? Fen'harel? Dirthamen? If I knew a dragon form, I’d throw an Old God rumour into the pot.”

“I think it is rather set in stone that those two are males, vhenan,” he chided.

“Oh? I will prove to you the power rumour has over even stone.” Solas chuckled and pressed his lips to hers once more, plush and warm, but chaste. She untangled her hands from his necklace to loop them around his neck, pulling him close. 

“Will I regret getting involved in your mischief?” he asked over her head, arms moving to encircle her waist.

“So long as you do not mind hearing the undoubtedly racy rumours that are bound to spring up about me,” she said with her own laugh. “Beyond that, you know what is true.” He drew back with a raised brow.

“Do I?” His thumb swept along her bottom lip. “I think you are lying, vhenan.” She smirked, lifting her eyes to the gloomy skies.

“That makes two of us.”


	2. Winter's Chill on a Fevered Brow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from DWC: Winter's chill on a fevered brow
> 
> (there will be a part two to this! :D)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following memory doesn't actually fit anywhere in the timeline of the main story, but if it did, it would be sometime before Solas and Maori got together and after they've made base in Skyhold. Alternate timeline? You might never know. :3

Solas' knee bounced restlessly. His eyes twitched between the table beneath his hands and the massive oak doors that filled Skyhold's main entry. He was alone. Which, as of late, was an unusual occurrence. Usually, it didn't bother him. There were plenty of things with which to occupy his mind. But the sudden change made him...anxious. Weeks ago, he told himself he wouldn't notice her absence. There were plenty of studies to keep him occupied, after all. She'd be back before he knew it - he liked to imagine she might surprise him on her return, walking in with wine and something sweet for him, a story of her travels ready on her clever tongue.

All would be well.

And he did quite well for some time. His focus stayed on his most pertinent studies and he went with the Inquisitor on a short expedition into the east. He might have been too focused, because soon enough, he'd fulfilled all that he needed to do and was left waiting on requisitions to be answered. It became a waiting game.

And thus, the daydreams came in earnest. Then the longing. It had already been growing in her stead, particularly since each night after she'd left he'd rushed into the Fade hoping to meet her. Each time it had been empty, reflecting the feeling in his heart and gut. The longing expanded like a rift. It was fierce, relentless...and lonely. He worried.

Solas began stealing into the pigeoncotes and even the Spymaster's letterbox, desperate for updates on her whereabouts. It seemed the world wanted to keep her away from him. To torture him with one more thing. But she was not a _thing_, she was _everything_. 

His grainy eyes dropped once more to his left hand. His fingers were stained with ink though it had been hours since he'd actually touched the stylus itself. It sat abandoned across the pages of his journal, a black splotch marring the mediocre vellum. Instead, between his fingers he held a whittling knife. He could not recall how he came by it - perhaps swiped from Blackwall's table or maybe the Undercroft - but it had become a tool he carried with him everywhere as he did with charcoal or his journal.

Probably because of her.  
Anything to remind himself of her.

The little acts of vandalism had started as an accident - one borne of a wandering mind and idle hands itching to take part in something creative. He'd taken it out on a table - the one back in his hut in Haven. A memory of the dragons that once roosted in the Frostbacks just above the mountainous village. He'd etched it after they'd drank wine and failed to finish carving her a staff. Now that table was lost beneath the burden of the Inquisitor's avalanche.

The habit had followed him from Haven. Here in Skyhold, he sat before the first one, adding details here and there. A scene of a forest from a dream he'd encountered in the Emerald Graves.

He'd earned himself yet another title, "The Whimsical Whittler". Silly as it was, he would rather be known as a serial artist than anything else.

Regardless, once he'd heard that on the lips of Skyhold's new residents, he thought to stop. No one seemed to connect the murals of the rotunda to the idle scratchings finding their way across the keep. It wouldn't do to be caught. The kind Ambassador would be livid.

He'd resolved to desist. Until Maori made the connection. She stopped him from stopping.

_You are the Whimsical Whittler_, she whispered, appearing at his shoulder while he was perusing in the library. 

_And what, exactly, will you do with this knowledge?_ She only winked and left without a word, carrying books beneath her arm.

Later, he remembered staring at the carving tool while he stood stumped in his research with the keystones. Frustration gave way to consideration. Research shifted to artistic study. His wandering mind began to map out a small mural for his desk. He was filling the rotunda with frescoes of Yin’s achievements, but perhaps the one on his desk could be for her. It would be nice to see her every time he came into his study, even when she wasn’t there in the flesh. But carving into his desk would reveal the identity of the Whimsical Whittler. So he drew the mural in his sketchbook - for now. He didn't finish it because she found him again.

She came unexpectedly as he was dousing his candles and turning in for the night. Skyhold was sleeping, but she was not. He wondered if she was having troubles again and had come to ask his help at last.

Unexpected but not unwelcome came her request:  
_Let's get some wine and sit by the fire._  
He followed like a happy puppy. He would have heeled her into the heart of a volcano if she'd so desired.

They stole into Skyhold's lower levels like two thieves in the shadows. Two thieves talking leisurely about the events of their day. They slipped into an alcove in the cellar where Yin and Dorian had taken to stashing their mismatched collection of wine bottles. As he took his turn recounting his day, Solas watched rapt as she struggled to reach the top shelf. Pulled up onto the tips of her toes, fingers straining as far as they would go. The barest hitching of her ragged sweater over her jutting hip had put a lump in his throat and blood rushing to his cheeks. He'd seen some of her body before when treating her wounds. And he'd done it without any compromising thoughts. But that had been because it was necessary. Now...now he had time to imagine what lay hidden beneath those roughspun layers. If there had been gods, he would have prayed then for one to strike him with lightning where he stood.

Her quiet cursing had reminded him that he was not in the Fade watching a memory. She was _very_ alive and real and present - he was not. He had also trailed off mid-thought.

Hoping she hadn't noticed his complete and utter distraction, he stepped forward quickly and grabbed a bottle, then held it out She settled slowly back onto the flats of her feet and accepted it carefully, eyeing the label.

"Is this the one you want?" she mused. "Butterbile?" Solas realised he hadn't even grabbed the one she was reaching for.

"It seemed...curious." One of those inky brows arched at him. Even he wasn't convinced of the lie.

"Yes, you are." Her voice was dark like the cellar. How it had coiled around him in a binding of stifling arousal. He should have kissed her then. Pushed her up against the wall and tangled his fingers in the silken kelp of her hair. Lavished that sinful neck with his tongue --

She broke his focus once more with a throaty chuckle.

"Come with me, _falon_." For one foolish moment, his brain had gone utterly blank. _Falon_ had sounded too much like _vhenan_. The absent gods had thrown their lightning bolts after all and struck him with a condemning realisation. _Vhenan_. It was something he had not realised he was missing from his life. A hopeless fantasy supplied by a delirious mind. _Lord of Tricksters_. His mind more often deceived him than he tricked anyone. To hear that word off her tongue..._that_ was a title he would be proud to wear.

"Solas? Are you coming?" She was already at the top of the stairs. He'd faltered, hand clawing into the wall as though intending to tear the stones down around his head. He nodded and forced his numb legs to climb the rest of the way up. She waited to go on until he joined her in the light. She searched his face."Are you tired? If you are...this can wait--"

"No, I was...only thinking," he said with a forced smile. She was always worrying for him. Maori squeezed his forearm - he'd remember that touch for days to come - and led him to one of the tables he'd decorated. The first one - now Varric's favourite place to sit. The hearth at his back and all of Skyhold to watch. He wondered if the dwarf did it on purpose to keep an eye on all those who visited or if it was simply his writer's mind in constant search of inspiration.

Maori lit the hearth with a gesture and turned to him, pale lips still pulled into one of her rare smiles. So rare, even they seemed confused with the movement. As a result it was a lopsided sort of thing, yet it had his heart fluttering like the new flames.

She slid into a chair on the adjoining side of the table, pulling the cork from the bottle with a wisp of magic. It came free with a strangely serpentine hiss. Solas only had eyes for the shapely legs stretched out beside him, nearly touching his own.

"This took place after Mythal's warriors defeated Falon'din in his temple," she started in her smoky voice, drawing his wayward gaze. Calloused fingers brushed over the ridges of the Emerald Grave's mural, silver eyes reflecting vermillion in light of the fire. She poured the Butterbile into two goblets she'd acquired at some point and handed one to him. He remembered the tangy scent of the wine intermingling with that of the burning logs of pine. The familiar stones of Skyhold about them. In her company, the riven world felt right. Whole again. He felt...content.

They drank at the same time and grimaced. It was sour and...maybe even rancid. He'd need to have a talk with Yin about collecting stray, questionable bottles and putting them with the reputable ones. But at the same time, the poor choice of wine felt like it had been the _right_ choice. 

Maordrid hummed and took another sip with a humming chuckle. "This is disgusting. I like it." Solas hid a fond smile in a corner of his lips. Her fingers made yet another pass over the mural.

He swirled the drink in his goblet, watching her intently. He did not need to look at the carving itself. She was far more intriguing anyhow.

"You were saying?" She smiled faintly.

"Yes. There was a celebration. One that lasted a hundred years, the people were so elated that the god of death had been halted of his mad killings. The warriors were elevated and many of Falon'din's surviving followers became Mythal's instead." In her reaccounting of the events - the true events - Solas had leaned forward, wine already forgotten on the table. He stared at the mural with renewed interest.

"Not many know the truth of Falon'din's greed." Lips now stained dark as plum flesh twitched into another smile. He resisted the urge to taste them.

"I am not many. I am just one." _One who has seen the world I once lived in. One who understands both the flaws and the endless beauties it once beheld._

"So you are," he had answered. "Would you...like to see how the Emerald Knights came to be?" To that day he wasn't sure how he'd resisted her. How she had touched his face with her gaze, as though imagining her hands caressing his cheeks and lips. She'd looked at him with longing...and something like wistfulness. _What does she see? _

Even now the memory gave him pleasant shudders.

He often thought about her love. Maordrid's affection was not always gentle or delicate - the only thing she ever touched was her blade or staff. Her touches often came in form of these intense gazes, as though afraid she might hurt him if she used her hands. They were still learning how to love each other. Sometimes he thought that if he could reverse it - go back to that night at Varric's table, he would have kissed her. Maybe even in the cellar. He would have guided her hands to his face or neck - carried her to his room or her tower. Whichever she wanted. 

Solas ran a hand across his brow and turned his tired eyes to the dying fire at his side. He rocked out of his chair and tossed a log into its mouth.

"_My fault. Another failure. The hope in their eyes, their cries of relief. Turned to terror when the shadows struck. I tried, Void, how I tried._" He turned slowly at the quiet voice of Compassion. Cole stood on the other side of the table, clutching a little wooden carving between his bandaged hands. A hawk? Or was it a griffon? "_I will try harder. Something must give._" Cole blinked and looked up at him. Solas was never unnerved by Cole, but something had him stepping closer to the fire. "Word comes on the wind. Pale and fraught with shame. Winter's chill on a fevered brow."

Solas' heart leapt painfully.

"She is near?"

"I can't tell. The Fade burns around her like a fever dream. She wants to visit the emerald waters but it hurts. Everything hurts. Head and heart are heavy like this unchanging domain." Cole rubbed the side of his head. His ghostly hair stuck up when he removed his hand. "Sorry. I thought it might help your worry but it's worse now."

"No, I would rather know, my friend. But you do not need to assuage my troubles. There are too many," Solas said. Cole nodded sadly.

"I would, if you let me." Solas smiled softly.

"I know, Cole. But it is all right." Cole's crooked smile reminded him too much of hers. He averted his gaze into the flames. His lids felt heavy. He should probably try to rest.

"She would want you to. She misses the spices and worn wool of your sweater. Beneath the blankets, legs entangled. She tries to be first to wake and watch you slumber. Aeons of light or eternity of night, she sees you anew. _Solas. Solas. Vhenan. I will never get used to it. Who will be there for him when I'm gone?_" Cole stopped before Solas could ask him to. "Oh, she needs honey in her wine. Good night, Solas." The spirit was gone before he could even reply. As usual, anything Cole ever had to say of Maori's mind had his brain spinning on its stem.

He sighed and made his way to his lonely chambers. He hadn't slept in his bed since she left. The blankets he had not touched since her body last warmed them. They retained her scent of oakmoss and the bergamot oils Dhrui had given her...but the comforting warmth had long been sapped from them.

Slipping underneath them and facing the wall, he pretended she was there with him again, sitting up late to read. Come morning, she would be curled around him, warm and pliant. It was a sweet little lie, but it was enough to help him to sleep nonetheless.


End file.
